Victor Victoria

America's poshest import on Becks, Sex, and the Spice Girls reunion

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Sneaking into Los Angeles in disguise under the cover of darkness would not exactly be Victoria Beckham's style. She's more the Cleopatra type, arriving on a gilded barge with purple sails, rowed by maids dressed as sea nymphs. Having already been there, done that, she opted for the twenty-first-century equivalent —a reality show, Victoria Beckham: Coming to America. In case you missed it, Victoria Beckham came to America.

The Spice Girl known as Posh disembarked picture-perfect from the plane at LAX on July 13, her famously unsmiling self groomed to the nines, nary a blond hair out of place, wearing an Azzedine Alaïa black dress, mile-high heels, and humongous black sunglasses, with an Hermès Birkin bag on one arm and her grinning soccer star husband on the other. What doesn't come naturally to his missus comes naturally to David Beckham, though it could be argued his smile was due to his having signed a $32.5 million, five-year contract with the L.A. Galaxy, a deal that also gives him the chance to earn in excess of $200 million in ticket and jersey sales. Paparazzi royalty, the pair were greeted by more than 100 reporters and photographers, rousing fanfare, camera flashes, and warm, welcoming shouts-out: a V-day parade, or in their case, a dVb-day parade.

Next stop? Beverly Hills.

At 33, she is a postmodern mix of Edie Sedgwick, Japanese anime heroine...and Judy Jetson. You can just see her swinging the Swivel Lounge, singing Judy's theme: "Eep Op Ork Ah-Ah!," purring the last line Peggy Lee–like: "Hop on, baby, I'll put you in orbit."

"I always joke that Victoria's an alien," says Perez Hilton, the gossip phenomenon and another queen, he of All Media. "Because she's in her own world—and out of this one." Hilton illustrated this on his website with paparazzi pictures doodled with alien antennae sprouting from her head. After Beckham good-naturedly confronted him on her reality show—a scene Hilton happily admits to arranging with her manager, Simon Fuller—he erased the antennae and drew her a crown.

An enormous vase of exotic flowers sits in the foyer surrounded by burning Diptyque candles, filling the air with the smell of Mexican orange blossoms. The Beckham abode has a mod, monastic vibe, the varying shades of gray, brown, and cream creating a minimalist but warm atmosphere. Three generations of voices carry from some of the 20 rooms, culminating in a soft chorus against the cathedral ceilings.

The living room is bathed in sunlight from the wall of windows that look out to the pool, where gardeners tend the plants and flowers. The light ignites the hundreds of crystals raining down from a gorgeous oval iron chandelier and matching wall sconces. "I designed those," Beckham says, sipping mint tea.

Aside from the china (Hermès), much of what you see she has created. That scepter Beckham wields is actually a branding iron. David and Victoria Beckham and Simon Fuller have created the dVb brand to put their stamp on all things stylish. The sunglasses on the table? Her design. As are the jeans and tank she's wearing. The black and champagne diamond bracelets sparkling on Beckham's wrist are part of her Japanese jewelry line. She's major in Japan, where she also produces a cosmetics line. "It's called V-Sculpt," she explains. "In Japan, [some women] are very self-conscious. They don't like that they feel they have round faces. So I came up with this concept of sculpting. Basically, it shows where to highlight and how to apply the makeup. It's all about sculpting your face and getting that V." She makes a V with her index fingers. "That sculpt."

The sweet smell of success is the fragrance she's wearing—Intimately Beckham. Sales in 2007 of the Beckham scents (there are several) were estimated to top $100 million. What couldn't be dVb branded? "Some of the best, coolest stores are taking on dVb," she says proudly. "A year ago, they would have laughed. Maxfield, Fred Segal, Collette, Harvey Nichols...I've spent years banging those bloody doors down. There are so many—and I hate the word—celebrities doing clothing lines and fragrances, and most of them have nothing to do with it." With the yin of impeccable taste, the yang of outrageous showmanship, and the smarts to have partnered with Fuller, manager of the Spice Girls, creator of American Idol, and, she says, "arguably the world's most intelligent businessman," Beckham is not to be taken lightly.

Jumping up, she unzips her jeans, showing off the fuchsia edging on the inside. "Look at the detail! And now you've seen my underpants!" She sits back down. "I could bore you to death with zips and rivets and dyes and all sorts of things. I go to denim factories and come out completely blue! I work seven days a week. And I so love what I'm doing. I could go shopping all day, which is what a lot of people think that I do. That's their perception—that I'm a miserable bitch and go shopping all day and boss David about."

A beautiful boy runs into the room. (Beckham made him, too.) "Mummy," he says, crawling into her lap, "I want to be Batman for Halloween." She hugs him. "Who woke up Mummy this morning, all spread out like a starfish on top?" Five-year-old Romeo is the sensitive, dark-haired son, born between his towheaded brothers Brooklyn, eight, and Cruz, two. "Romeo is a performer," Beckham says. "He loves High School Musical. I'm Gabriella to his Troy." She gives him a squeeze. "We're all going shopping today for costumes."

"Romeo, Romeo!" A handsome woman with chin-length ginger-color hair enters, enveloped in a plush white bathrobe. Beckham introduces her mother, Jackie, who apologizes for not being dressed (it's only 8 a.m.) and tempts Romeo away, proposing that they work on a puzzle.

Let's go back. There's someone you should meet on the playground at the Church of England school. See that chubby, pimply kid in the duffle coat with the hood cinched up against the cold and flying debris? That's Victoria Adams, loser, loner, and—unbeknownst to the classmates pelting her with stones—future Spice Girl. "They were literally picking things up out of the puddles and throwing them at me," Beckham says, cringing. "And I just stood there, on my own. No one was with me. I didn't have any friends. People would push me around, say they were going to beat me up after school, chase me. It was miserable, my whole schooling, miserable. I tried to be friends with people, but I didn't fit in. So I kept myself to myself."

Home was a happier place, where she was extremely close to her parents and younger brother and sister. Her father, Tony, had been the lead singer in a band called the Sonics, until he fell for Jackie and got a "proper job" as an electrical distributor. He did well enough to buy his dream, a Rolls-Royce. "It was chocolate brown with cream leather interior and gold detailing," Beckham says. "My dad had gone from having nothing to working very hard and being very determined and having this Rolls-Royce and a nice house."

After graduating from hell, Victoria auditioned for and was accepted at the Laine Theatre Arts College in Surrey. "You walk in and there are pictures of ex-students who had done well and, um, who we all should aspire to be like—headshots of the one who'd been in Cats or Les Misérables," she recalls. "It was run by a woman called Betty Laine, who had bright red hair. She didn't mince her words. And though she was very sweet, she was a real thespian.

"It became very obvious from the start," Beckham continues, "that I was never going to be the best singer or the best dancer or the best actress. I was never a `natural.'" She thinks about this. "You know, I've never been that good at anything, to be completely honest."

"I agree she wasn't one of the major talents," says Laine, calling on a break from auditioning new applicants. "But she was quite a good tap dancer. And she was very driven. Victoria was determined without being pushy. She put her head down and got on with it." Laine also remembers, "She was beautifully groomed, immaculate all the time."

Armed with her Laine Theatre degree, Beckham answered an ad in The Stage to audition for a girl band. "Other kids got up and sang Madonna or Whitney Houston," she remembers. "I'd been to theater school, so I sang `Mein Herr' from Cabaret. I'm no Mariah Carey, but I can sing."

Yet students at her alma mater won't see her photograph on the wall of fame. "It's in my office," Laine says, "a lovely picture of her receiving her diploma from Ruthie Henshall, who starred in Chicago, Cats, Les Misérables." This reminds her: "Victoria was going to come one year and hand out diplomas, too. Unfortunately, she had to cancel near the date because of a photo session. But perhaps one day she will."

Twenty-four hours later, it's been decided. Two Batmans, a vampire, and a Victoria Beckham will be trick-or-treating in their Beverly Hills neighborhood. "The boys had great fun in the costume shop," Beckham says. "Someone told me I'm going to feature big this year with the drag queens." She loves this. "I'm so camp! I'm such a gay man trying to get out. I don't give a shit what anybody thinks." She laughs, covering her mouth, "like a woman who's shy," observes Hilton.

Beckham offers something to eat from a platter of fresh fruits and bakery goods. "May I make you a plate? Would you like a croissant?" She sticks to the slices of mango and pineapple and honeydew, eating daintily with her delicate fingers. The square canary-yellow diamond on her hand slumps heavily to one side—a "Honey, I'm home!" gift. "It's a bit cloudy at the moment," Beckham says, holding it out for inspection. "Because I've been changing baby's nappies."

Today, she's working white dVb Capri-cut jeans, a blue tank, and shaggy white bedroom slippers. You wonder what Beckham wears to bed. "I sleep naked." I tell her I couldn't sleep without pajamas, and she replies, "You don't sleep with David Beckham." She giggles. "I'm going to be naked if I'm getting in bed with him every night!"

Speak of the devil. In comes the husband, with Cruz in hand. "Mummy, you were singing in the Spice Girls!" the toddler says. They've just returned from taking his big brothers to school.

"Were you listening to the Spice Girls in Daddy's car?" Victoria asks.

"Yes!" He's running back and forth—zip, zip, zip—a Cruz missile. The whole family is going on the Spice Girls' 40-date reunion tour beginning December 2. "I wanted my children to see that Mummy was a pop star," Beckham says. "It was the last opportunity for them to stand in a crowd full of people screaming for the Spice Girls."

She introduces her husband. A gay icon himself, he has a shy smile, a small voice, and a strong, leathery handshake. He sleeps covered in tattoos. Sweeping up Cruz, his Mini Me, he throws him over a shoulder and carries him off to the kitchen.

Meeting David was "completely love at first sight," Beckham says. "I remember it so clearly." The Spice Girls were at their zenith when she flew with Fuller to a Manchester United match. David had yet to wow the world with his way of bending the ball. But he wowed her. She gave him her phone number on her airline ticket stub. "And he told me he went home and wrote the number on so many other things in case he lost it," she says. "We found the ticket the other day!" They dated for months under the radar. "We drove around in his car and would sit in car parks and talk for hours and hours. We didn't need to go out for meals. We didn't need to go out for drinks. We just wanted to be together and get to know each other."

"It was a fascinating time," Fuller says. "She was Posh Spice, and David was just on the brink of being the biggest footballers in England. They were so in love and desperately keen to get married. I was the father figure in the group, so I was like, `Take it slow.' But Victoria was just so deliriously happy and determined."

And you know what that means. "They have a unique chemistry," Fuller says. "They've been through amazing and difficult times. They're like an island, but that's what makes them special. They keep each other on their toes. They're also critical of each other, pushing the other to be better."

Imposing wrought iron gates open in slow motion to a long, narrow drive lined by towering hedges. Parked in front of the $22 million manse is a black Bentley Continental GTC with monogrammed VB headrests and a Lincoln Navigator bearing David's soccer number, 23, on the seats and the front grille. Ten security guards resembling Chippendales dancers walk the grounds. In England, ex– Special Forces agents patrol the couple's 24-acre estate, with its 1930s Georgian-style house—a former government-owned children's home. Dubbed "Beckingham Palace," the residence is Grade II listed (yes, even property there is defined by class), which deems it "a particularly significant building of more than local interest." There they re-created the ancient Irish church in which they were wed in 1999—on matching thrones, with Victoria wearing a crown. "I enjoy sending it up," she says. "A wedding is such an over-the-top expression of who you are, anyway. You've got to have a sense of humor."

Even when exercising one, "she's always polished and put together, and never vulgar," says her friend Dita Von Teese, the burlesque artist and fashion icon. "Not that it isn't okay to look vulgar—with intention," she says, laughing. "I love the risqué photo shoots she's done with David. They're willing to take chances." And yet, "you never see her letting her guard down," adds Von Teese. "She's got the paparazzi seduced." After swarming Beckham during the two-day ELLE photo shoot in Paris, the phalanx of photographers literally dropped their cameras and applauded when the shoot was finished. It's a relationship that she has learned to live with gracefully. Victoria is the anti-Britney.

She has no business looking this well composed at 7:30 in the morning. Beckham, 5'3" in her bare feet, greets you in the entrance of her Mediterranean-style house wearing skintight, flared jeans, a cobalt Abercrombie & Fitch cropped cardigan, and a white T-shirt snug enough to reveal the outline of her nipples. "To look at her is refreshing," says Desperate Housewives' Eva Longoria, her best new friend. "It's especially rare in L.A.—kingdom of the Ugg boots."

As thin as a fashion sketch, Beckham, the best-selling author of the style guide That Extra Half an Inch: Hair, Heels and Everything in Between, is a vision of carefully considered perfection: impeccable makeup; glowing bob; tawny skin; French manicured acrylic nails on her fingers—toes, too!; and white teeth that twinkle with Disney stars–like ping! every time she smiles...which, contrary to the photos that get published, is often. "I'm not one to stand on a red carpet and give a big, huge grin," Beckham says. She prefers to keep it as cool and collected as an Andy Warhol silk screen.